PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

People just don't understand what its like to be young anymore.

To contend with the loving-

the late nights fucked up peeing in bushes because we can't go home,

the laughter pouring in swarms to the neighbors,

the pressure to create perfect moments to never forget.

To contend with the leaving-

the obliteration of everything we have ever experienced for a single unknown.



Youth was always an experiment for me.

I studied it too hard maybe, knew it would fade in days and I,

be left to hold its pathetic remains and wonder what it was like.

And so I drank in the colors and noises like the finest wine,

like a picture in a museum you know you will only see once.

But the beauty of the whole is somehow lost in the detail of the strokes,

the ferociousness with which i concentrate on how it feels to lie in a lovers arms.

I know, though every perfect moment continues to roll,

smooth and spherical, to my feet-

that I will forget it.

That it will die, and I,

never touch it again.



And now, ladies and gentlemen,

To be perfect for three more months.

Insanity prevails in this crazy house,

I almost can't breathe and its making me high.

This trip is making me love you,

its making me ignore all that is to come,

we are making this a good life to throw away.

We are making this a good life to wave goodbye to.

We are making good stories that have to end.

No one really knows how it feels to be young like this.

To love, maybe more honestly and sweetly than ever again-

and hold it in your palm with the ticking bomb of time.

To love! Fully, passionately, desperately!

It climaxes to its final shuddering epitome and then,

like a dream,

to wake-

obliterated.

White, and alone again.

After 18 years.